glance of ferocious energy.

"I have had servants," said Mrs. Ambrose, concentrating her gaze. "At
this moment I have a nurse. She's a good woman as they go, but she's
determined to make my children pray. So far, owing to great care on
my part, they think of God as a kind of walrus; but now that my back's
turned--Ridley," she demanded, swinging round upon her husband, "what
shall we do if we find them saying the Lord's Prayer when we get home
again?"

Ridley made the sound which is represented by "Tush." But Willoughby,
whose discomfort as he listened was manifested by a slight movement
rocking of his body, said awkwardly, "Oh, surely, Helen, a little
religion hurts nobody."

"I would rather my children told lies," she replied, and while
Willoughby was reflecting that his sister-in-law was even more eccentric
than he remembered, pushed her chair back and swept upstairs. In a
second they heard her calling back, "Oh, look! We're out at sea!"

They followed her on to the deck. All the smoke and the houses had
disappeared, and the ship was out in a wide space of sea very fresh and
clear though pale in the early light. They had left London sitting on
its mud. A very thin line of shadow tapered on the horizon, scarcely
thick enough to stand the burden of Paris, which nevertheless rested
upon it. They were free of roads, free of mankind, and the same
exhilaration at their freedom ran through them all. The ship was making
her way steadily through small waves which slapped her and then fizzled
like effervescing water, leaving a little border of bubbles and foam on
either side. The colourless October sky above was thinly clouded as if